4 Signs Your Kitty Actually Loves You
by DancingInStars
Summary: The nickname dropped in the middle of dinner. Jack always knew that something was going on, even if it took a website to make him realize it. Danley.


The nickname dropped one day in the middle of dinner, around two months into the birth of the Four Horsemen. They were living in an apartment block not far from where they had first received their instructions—one of which included the address to that particular apartment.

"Can you pass me the mash potato?" Daniel asked with a vague gesture towards the other end of the table. His head was bent towards the blueprints that he had brought to the table, his own plate nearly untouched in front of him.

Henley obliged, setting the bowl down beside him wordlessly. At Daniel's lack of reaction, the redhead rolled her eyes, mouthing in an exaggerated manner, "My pleasure to serve, _Your Majesty_."

Daniel made a noncommittal sound from the back of his throat, glancing over at Henley with a smirk that was more tired than arrogant, "Glad you know your place, kitten."

Jack, seated opposite the two, raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The exasperated gaze that Henley shot at Daniel was belied by the surprise fluttering in her eyes, "You're still using that dumb nickname?"

"Well, it's _your _dumb nickname."

* * *

_4 Signs Your Kitty Actually Loves You_

That was the title at the top of the webpage when Jack powered the laptop left on the kitchen counter. He had no idea how, or why for that matter, Merritt had come to this page when he had used the laptop 'for research purposes' earlier in the day. Jack himself had no interest in the article for two reasons: 1. It was unreasonable for them to keep a pet for the next year or so and 2. He was more of a dog person anyway.

It was just there on the screen, and Jack was just about to close the tab when his eyes happened to wander towards the living room, where Henley was napping on the couch. She stretched as he watched her, a full body stretch that loosened her muscles—not unlike a cat waking up.

Daniel leaned over her, bracing a hand on the top of the couch as he poked her in the ribs with the other, saying something about how they had to get back to work unless she would want him to practice taking her bra off in her sleep. Henley replied with a mumbled version of something that sounded suspiciously like 'asshole'. She seemed unmoved by Daniel's hourly dose of irritation however, blinking slowly up at him to clear the sleep from her eyes.

Jack finally looked away from the two, glancing back towards the computer screen:

_**Slow Blinking**_ _It is said that cats kiss with their eyes, so don't expect to share this sign of affection with any old cat. Cats save eye contact for people they know and trust. If that eye contact is coupled with slow blinking then you've just received a kitty kiss. Return the love by mimicking the behavior._

Hm. That was interesting.

ii

Jack had fallen in love with Paris within an hour after they arrived. The narrow, twisting streets and quaint coffee shops had him twisting his head to look around, and it was only with Henley's hand leading him away that forced him into action when all he had wanted was to be frozen in time. Their instructions had been to persuade a man to come to their show in Vegas—"very Inception-esque," Henley lamented, and Jack had agreed.

In between, they had arranged to work on their acts, learning from one another and picking up on skills that needed polishing. Merritt had clapped him on the shoulder and promised him to work on his showmanship, and that was exactly what they were doing—in return Jack taught him how to draw cards and spoons and marbles from his sleeve to fool an audience. They had been working on this for the better part of two hours when Henley had walked in, Daniel close on her heels. They were arguing about something or other, an exchange that was mostly bites and snarky retorts and dropping allusions to their past that Jack could never understand—if Merritt did he didn't say anything, much to his chagrin.

It ended with Henley disappearing into her room in silence, Daniel left behind sputtering in the living room. "Can you believe her?!"

Merritt palmed two marbles, by now expertly passing them between his fingers, "If she said something along the lines of you being an insufferable jackass, then yeah, I could."

Daniel ignored the jab, dropping himself onto the couch beside Jack and reclining back with a hand thrown over his eyes. His dark curls were hidden under a dark blue beret, absent when he had left the apartment earlier.

"Embracing the French, Daniel?"

"What?" He followed Jack's gaze, the tips of his fingers brushing the edges of the beret. "Oh this? It's nothing, Henley wanted to blend in and thought it would be funny."

It was a weird moment if any, but for some reason another item on that list popped into his head:

_**Gifting**__ There is no denying that a small dead something is not at the top of your wishlist, but a kitty that presents you with this bounty deserves to be praised. Despite our domestication, cats still have the inner hunter and sharing their prizes with you is a sign of true friendship._

iii

"Danny for the love of- _what is wrong with you_?!"

It was the day after their New Orleans show. After successfully evading the FBI and regrouping in their apartment, they had been instructed to lay low and await their next orders. They knew what they had to do in New York, the only grey area was _how_ they were supposed to get there. Jack was walking past Daniel's room when he heard Henley's voice, partly aggravated and partly horrified. Ever inquisitive, Jack poked his head into the room just as Daniel made a sound that was close to a screech.

He'd thought that after a year of living with them he would have seen it all, but he was proven wrong. The scene was stranger than their mysterious benefactor: Henley had Daniel by the hair—literally, her hands were fisted into his dark hair—and she was dragging him towards the sink in the bathroom.

The noise Daniel made was mutinous, "Ow, what the-?"

"It's either this or I'm going to have to shave your head clean, now stop fighting."

Jack stood at the threshold, bewilderment rooting him to the spot in silence. That was when Henley noticed him, "Jack, can you please tell Mr Wet Cement here to try to be sensible?"

"What's… going on?"

In response, Henley shoved him towards the sink, "Look at him!"

And that was what Jack did. Now that Henley had released him, Jack could see where Daniel's dark hair was clumped and tangled atop his head. She wasn't exaggerating when she said 'wet cement'; he looked like he had substituted it for shampoo. "Dude, what happened?"

"Hair gel," Daniel mumbled as Henley shoved his head down towards the sink. "I fell asleep and forgot to wash it off last night."

"I can set it on fire and it wouldn't even be an illusion," Henley grumbled irritably, running water over his hair and carefully brushing out the tangles. Jack watched in fascination, not only at Daniel's willingness to be manhandled but also Henley's willingness to help him. She was good at it too. Her fingers were deft and sure, clearing his hair of the product before untangling it systematically.

Jack left them like that, hands in his pockets and intent on getting breakfast. If only he could get that silly list out of his mind…

_**Grooming**_ _One of the most obvious signs of trust you have with your furry companion._

iv

They had only checked into their rooms in Vegas for a few hours before Merritt had come knocking on their doors with a preposition: To get drunk off their faces.

He didn't specify where or when or any other of the messy details, so it was Daniel who suggested that the group hit the hotel bar, if not to ensure that they would all somehow find their way back to their rooms when they could barely see straight—'suggested' of course, used loosely. Daniel had to have the last word, and maybe it was the electric hum of Sin City or the nerves creeping in for part one of their act, Merritt didn't argue with him for once.

That was where Jack found himself, watching Merritt down his 6th shot of tequila while feeling pleasantly buzzed himself. Daniel and Henley had disappeared into the crowd together, having excused themselves after the first fifteen minutes. Merritt tapped him, not all too lightly, on the shoulder, "Check up on those two, will ya'? Make sure they still have their clothes on or something."

"How about you?" Jack had to shout to make himself heard over the cheering that erupted from their end of the bar.

The mentalist waved him off, halfway through saying something about being able to take care of himself before downing his next shot.

Finding Daniel and Henley was easier than he had expected; they were stumbling together towards the elevator when he passed them. Henley seemed a little worse for wear, leaning heavily against Daniel to keep her balance. Daniel seemed a little better, if just barely. Jack left them with a reminder to Daniel about drinking more water and a sympathetic pat on Henley's shoulder.

He was making his way back towards Merritt when, for some unfathomable reason, he found himself turning around to seek out the other two Horsemen. They were standing by the elevator, Daniel curled around Henley and laughing at something that she was saying, or maybe just laughing at how she seemed unable to get a word out from laughing herself. Henley's grin was as bright as the lights above them, and she pressed her forehead into Daniel's temple almost repeatedly in her mirth, trying to catch her breath. His arm was wrapped languidly around her waist, holding her up and close to him.

Something heavy collided into his side then, and Jack looked up, alarmed, to see that it was Merritt. The older man was, as he had put it earlier in the night, drunk off his face, his laughter slurring at the edges. "How many shots did you do?" Jack questioned.

"I lost count."

"… At how many did you lose count?"

Merritt wiggled his fingers at him before lurching sideways on his feet.

It was in between trying to balance Merritt and lugging him across the room when Jack remembered:

_**Head butting **__To be on the receiving end of what is actually known in the cat world as 'head bunting' is a very special privilege indeed. During this exchange your cat deposits pheromones that represent their feelings of trust and safety they have with you._


End file.
